


Lace Trappings

by orphan_account



Category: Master and Commander - Patrick O'Brian, Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: Age of Sail, Community: ladyslash, Crossover, F/F, Female Characters, Female Protagonist, Ficlet, Gambling, One Night Stand, POV Female Character, POV Third Person, Past Tense, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-12
Updated: 2010-05-12
Packaged: 2017-10-09 15:43:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/88990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jane plays cards with Diana Villiers and one thing leads to another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lace Trappings

**Author's Note:**

> Written [Ladyslash](http://ladyslash.dreamwidth.org)'s "Three Weeks for Dreamwidth" comment fic meme - and my own prompt. Because no-one else would. I still would love to read someone else's take on this pairing. HINT.
> 
> This isn't the fun, empowering stuff it could be, but I find it hard to divorce the character of Diana from everything she was fighting a losing battle with.
> 
> Unbetaed, C&amp;C welcome.

Diana Maturin had once supported herself by going up on dragonback in front of the Parisian crowd.

The thought gave Jane Roland pause. She folded the leaflet and tucked it back where she found it, between a folder with two miniatures paintings of people she didn't recognize. One could assume the thin, sour-looking gentleman was her husband. He must have been very rich to procure that match.

Looking around the drawing room of the house on Half Moon Street, Jane could easily believe in Mr Maturin's affluence. Even in the candlelight she could see that every inch was bedecked in wealth, from delicate lace and heavy velvet drapes to chairs upholstered in embroidered silk, and walls hung with the works of masters. She suspected she could have a whole Peking-style pavilion built for Excidium on less than the cost of just that one room's furnishings.

Dragon shows were a low form of entertainment, Jane had always thought, but the common element in any nation was keen on spectacle, and a glittering lady strapped on to an aged Garde-de-Lyon captained by a half-pay officer must have been enough to cover a few bills. How things do change. Jane smiled to think of how less magnificent the feat must seem to anyone who knew about Longwing pilots and the Chinese dragon corps.

Jane put the folder back on the mantelpiece where she'd found it and took another stroll around the empty room, hands clasped behind her back, the unfamiliar rustling of skirts swishing around her legs. The opened port stood by on the drinks cabinet and a game of piquet lay waiting, unfinished, on the card table.

By and by her hostess reappeared, as elegant in her apologies as she had been in losing to various guests all evening. Household management was her excuse, and Jane wondered just how much Mrs Maturin had been losing, and whether the heavy boots she'd heard in the hallway had belonged to a creditor.

'Shall we?' Jane smiled and indicated the table. It really was getting too late, but she was the last of the guests and she had promised Mrs Maturin a chance to win back some of her losses.

She wouldn't count on victory, however, if she was Diana Maturin. For one, Jane was still slightly more sober.

-

'You are an adventuress, like one reads about in French novels,' Diana Maturin declared.

Jane laughed. 'Is that so?'

'Mmm.' Diana ran a finger down Jane's inner thigh. Jane flinched as it brushed against an jagged wound an inch above her knee, an exit wound from a sword thrust.  
The two of them were sprawled on a bed of absolutely ridiculous silken sheets, the morning light blocked by heavy drapes, not a stich on either of them. The room smelled of perfume and sweat.

'You walk like a man. You're scarred like a man. Somehow you've managed to wear breeches and fight battles and yet be invited to society. How is that?' Diana rested her head on her hand and gave Jane a curious look.

'I have friends,' Jane said, careful not to confirm or deny Diana's guess. 'Breeding too, in case you wondered--'

'How queer,' Diana said, propping herself up. 'I find that while individuals may make exceptions for a spirited lady, _society_ never does.'

Jane shrugged. 'I care little for balls and dinners. I am quite content to play the poor relation when the occasion calls for it. Society isn't where I live my life.'

'I envy you,' Diana sighed, and Jane could well believe her. Diana's eyes flashed with something that was half anger and half longing, but before Jane could react, Diana had crawled up her body and was pushing her salty lips against hers, tongue slippery and sour against hers.

Whatever line of thought Jane had meant to continue from that point was forgotten. She could feel Diana's nipples brushing her skin as Diana moved, all liquid grace and warm flesh and intensity.

Diana moved her hand, and Jane's mouth fell open, her elbows digging into the mattress.

-

Jane left the house in her rumpled dress before morning traffic had yet abated, to recover from the sleepless night in her own simple bed. Diana had told her to stay as long as she liked, but the last time a lover had told her that it had taken her days to remember herself, and Jane had no desire to be so remiss again.

To Jane's guilty surprise, Diana had settled her debt with a cheque, and Jane, in return, had given Diana an address to call on in case she found herself (once more) compromised. _Should you ever need me_, was the way she had phrased it. It was a long shot. In truth, there was very little Jane was in a position to do for a desolate navy wife with a taste for cards and bourbon. In retrospect, she should be happy to cut her losses and run like a soldier in a bawdy ballad.

Jane had met plenty of unhappy ladies, as well as ones who were content in their pampered lives, or simply unhappy not to lead a more pampered one. Most of them would not survive ten minutes on the back of a dragon. Diana Maturin was not one of them. Jane shuddered to think how close she herself had come to be born with the desire to fly, and yet be tied down with petticoats and propriety.

It was too late for Diana. The address had been a feeble gesture. All Jane could do was wish her well.


End file.
